


The tale of a summer love

by you_make_me_wander



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Mention / Appearance of other characters, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_make_me_wander/pseuds/you_make_me_wander
Summary: What happens if you fall in love with your best friend?Lydia meets Stiles when they're only 5 year olds, and the friendship of a lifetime is formed. Can she accept that ther devotion to each other has turned into something more meaningful as they go through life?A Stydia AU for the "Friends to Lovers" trope.= As of January 2019, this story is ON HOLD, and so it will be picked up once some of the on-going stories are finished. =





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BEASBeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BEASBeth/gifts).



> I just realized I never posted this story here for some reason, so here it is. The Stydia AU no one really asked for (well, Beth did, this is her doing, but you know what I meant) that has Stiles and Lydia meeting in the sand as little 5 year olds and falling in love as they grow older, summer after summer.
> 
> Parts 1 and 2 are up :)
> 
> = As of January 2019, this story is ON HOLD, and so it will be picked up once some of the on-going stories are finished. =

**Part 1**

“That’s not a castle.”

The sharp observation of the five-year-old that just approached her does nothing to surprise a young Lydia.

“I know,” she remarks dismissively, but instead of going away like everybody else does, the boy sits on the sand in front of her and studies her work of art, his own bucket and plastic shovels forgotten by his side.

“Can’t you do castles?,” he asks in curiosity, and Lydia finds herself smiling knowingly at the boy, that she now notices has sunscreen smeared all over his face as if he’d run away from his mother when she was applying it.

“Of course I can.” The boy seems marveled at whatever it is that she’s building (Lydia doesn’t even know what it is herself, in all honesty), and his eyes shine when she tells him that “I can do anything.”

There’s a shyness about him then, and Lydia can’t really tell why in all her wisdom at five years of age herself, even if she is used to see it in the other kids’ eyes before they leave Lydia to her doings. The boy is almost reluctant to let out “Can I watch you? It’s really pretty” but he still does, and for some reason Lydia’s cheeks flame and it’s not from the California heat.

For some reason, the strange boy would rather stay and watch Lydia play with ordinary sand instead of leaving her be like everyone else does. Even so young, Lydia is already different from the other boys and girls her age, and they haven’t really hesitated in making her feel like she doesn’t belong.

But for some reason, he does.

 _Weird_.

“Okay,” she finds herself saying in a small voice, afraid that he won’t want to play with her anymore if she keeps pushing her luck.

“And you know what?,” the boy tells her a bit too excitedly, suddenly fueled. “I can build you a fortress! I’m really good at making fortresses,” he mumbles proudly while jumping back to his feet, seemingly unable to sit still for long.

“Why?,” Lydia asks, surprised at his sudden forwardness.

“Because your…” He gestures to the sandy building that Lydia has been working on ever since she and her mother got to the beach, unsure of what to call it. “The water will get to it if I don’t,” he resolves to say, lost for words.

Lydia tilts her head to the side, her fiery tresses gently dancing in the soft wind. The boy has a front tooth missing and looks thin enough, but something about him has Lydia deciding that he’s up for such an important task. “Okay,” she repeats, a soft smile on her lips.

Encouraged, the boy moves closer, and Lydia can tell that he has the prettiest brown eyes, more interesting than the dull brown she’s seen on boys and girls in her classes back home.

Or well, her last home. She doesn’t have _that_ home anymore.

“I’m Stiles,” he grins, and she notices that he has moles on his cheeks.

Wondering what kind of a name is _Stiles_ , she simply replies with “I’m Lydia”, and then there’s silence.

Only after a moment of soft, embarrassed smiles does the boy, Stiles, breaks it. “Soooo…” He drags, his chubby cheeks reddening a little. “Wanna play?”

Lydia nods eagerly, happy to have made a new friend. “Can you teach me how to make a fortress?”

Stiles grabs the shovels at his feet and puts them inside his bucket, boldly holding her hand and pulling her along. “Yeah. And you can teach me how to build… _That_ …” Lydia laughs silly at his lack of words, picking up her own shovels and following him to the waterside. “What’s that?”

Little Lydia breaks into an explanation of what she thinks it is, and is pleasantly surprised when the boy asks questions and wants to know more instead of avoiding her. More so when she finds out that it’s almost time to leave, a couple of hours later, and that the morning seemed to have flown by while she played with her knew friend under the watchful, delighted gaze of Lydia’s mother and Stiles’ parents, who were sitting on their towels just far enough to give the children some space to play around as they pleased.

There’s a tiny swell of hope in Lydia’s chest when her mother tells her, later that day, that by some odd coincidence the Stilinskis live in the same town that the Martin girls just move to, even if they ended up finding each other in a beach 30 miles away. Lydia is enchanted with all the stories that her mother tells her about when she and Mrs. Stilinski went to school together when they were young, and she’s more than thrilled when she realizes that it means she’ll get to see Stiles again.

Stiles was funny, and nice, and super enthusiastic about anything and everything Lydia told him. He laughed at her jokes and she laughed at his; Stiles told her that her hair was shiny and pretty like the sun, and Lydia expressed back how she was genuinely enjoying spending her time with him.

Lydia doesn’t remember ever talking so much with anyone in her life, no matter that she’s still rather young, nor does she remember ever feeling this included, and at five years of age Lydia thinks that she’s just got her first best friend, and she thinks that she’d like to keep him forever.


	2. Chapter 2

** Part 2 **

Lydia likes Sheriff Stilinski very much. He’s been like a father to her ever since her own left her and her mother to fend for themselves five years ago, having decided that his other family was more important.

The Sheriff is kind, Lydia thinks, and she enjoys spending time with him. Of course, with Stiles too. Sometimes she wonders how strange it is that they’ve all become a family so easily, the Stilinskis and the Martins. And the McCalls, of course. There’s no forgetting Stiles’ other best friend, Scott.

They’ve been an inseparable trio for three years now, ever since – and much like with Lydia – Scott saw his father abandon him. Unlike what happened to the Martins, however, the McCalls saw Raphael leave them in favor of his job, and so Scott and his mother, a lovely lady named Melissa, moved to small town Beacon Hills, California, where the nurse had first worked after graduating.

Lydia was Stiles’ best friend first, but Scott fit right in with them as if it was meant to be. Lydia doesn’t think, even, that she’s ever been this happy in her life before.

Or well, at least until recently.

Her thoughts are interrupted by her mother, who gently grabs her upper arm to catch Lydia’s attention. Lydia notices now that their car has stopped and that they’re already in front of the Stilinskis’ household.

“Honey,” her mother says, but her heart is too heavy at the moment to properly hear it. “Are you ready?”

Is she ready to help her best friend mourn the loss of his mother? Has she been ready any of the past days? Lydia doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t say anything. She opens the passenger door and gets out of the car instead.

The cold breeze that can be felt does nothing to appease the mid-July heat, and Lydia finds herself scorching under the blazing sun. It’s her mother who ushers her from the spot, an arm protectively draped around Lydia’s shoulders urging her to move forward.

Contrary to what’s happened every single time they’ve been there before Claudia’s passing two weeks ago, this time there’s no Stilinski coming to meet them at the door. Instead, Natalie lets herself in using the spare key that is not so wisely hidden under a vase by the front door, and the house feels so devoid of life as they enter that both Martin girls stand still for a moment, and it isn’t until they hear sobs coming from the kitchen that they move.

They spring to action, finding the Sheriff sitting on the floor and sagging against the cupboards as the man hugs his knees to his chest. It startles ten-year-old Lydia; she has never seen a grown man cry before and knowing that Stiles’ father, someone who is so dear to her, is hurting makes the pain in her own chest press harder.

“Oh, Noah…” Her mother says, immediately kneeling on the floor beside her friend. Lydia stays rooted on the spot, mostly unresponsive. She watches as her mother comforts the Sheriff until the crying subsides, and the man – who always looked so sure of himself to young Lydia – is reduced to pure heartbreak and lack of will to breathe.

He doesn’t get up and neither does her mother, and Lydia feels useless in that moment, knowing that nothing she can do will help ease the man’s pain.

But maybe, just maybe she can ease her friend’s.

As if reading her mind, her mother looks up and meets Lydia’s eyes, whispering to her as if raising her tone would hurt the man further. “Honey, why don’t you go ahead and find Stiles?”

Lydia nods apprehensively and starts making her way to her best friend’s bedroom but the Sheriff’s voice, broken and almost inaudible, stops her. “He’s outside, by the tree house,” he murmurs, not quite looking Lydia in the eyes. “He’s always by the tree house now.”

The young redhead nods once more, her hair - shorter now than when she met Stiles for the first time - grazing her shoulders as she turns around in the opposite direction to the Stilinskis’ backyard.

She walks with renewed vigor when she sees him, very much like his father sitting against the tree that embellishes the farther side of their property, by the back fence. Lydia has always thought of Stiles as a lanky boy, but she doesn’t think he’s ever seemed so small before, and it isn’t until Lydia calls for him that Stiles notices her presence.

“Stiles?,” she asks in a whisper, only loud enough for him to hear. Mimicking her mother, Lydia kneels on the grass beside him, unsure of whether to touch him.

His eyes are pleading but Lydia doesn’t know what for, not until she notices how his breathing is coming out in sharp gasps, his pretty cheeks stained with tears.

“Stiles, look at me,” Lydia utters, recognizing the episode as one of his panic attacks. She didn’t even know what to do about such a thing until Stiles started having them about a year ago when Claudia first fell ill, and nine-year-old Lydia had been very determined to learn all that she could about it at the time so that she could help her friend. Taking Stiles’ hands in her own and squeezing, as if wanting to give him something to feel and to ground himself to, Lydia slows her breathing and waits until his stare focuses on the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, until his breathing matches hers and he’s calmer, more alert.

His cheeks are red with the effort and his chest is still heaving a little when Lydia speaks. “Hi,” she tells him, heart beating wild in her chest from the scare as she leans against the tree and lets herself sit properly against it.

Stiles releases a measured, shaky breath and takes his time, closing his eyes for a moment under Lydia’s worried gaze before responding. “Hi,” he murmurs weakly, and Lydia’s throat burns with the urge to cry herself.

Glancing at him off the corner of her eye, Lydia regrettably notices how, despite having only been two weeks since the funeral, Stiles doesn’t look like a ten-year-old boy anymore. What happened weighs on him and wears him down, making him look older, and Lydia wishes that she could miraculously fix it.

If only she knew how…

“I’m sorry,” she hears, and Lydia can’t believe the words came out of his mouth.

“What for?”

“For scaring you.”

Five years into their friendship and he can still surprise her. Despite having a very energetic, spirited, and opinionated personality most of the time - one that somehow mingles beautifully with her own -, and in spite of their young age, Lydia has already learned that Stiles can be a very giving person to those he truly cares about. And sometimes it amazes Lydia to know just how much at that.

Like now. He’s suffering because he lost his mother and he’s been having panic attacks every other hour almost, and still he’s worried that he’s scared her.

_This boy…_

Lydia shakes her head dismissively. She’s more concerned about him. “You okay?”

Stiles only shrugs his shoulders in response.

They sit together in silence then, for what seems like hours on end until Mrs. McCall comes find them in the backyard, Scott at her heels, having just arrived.

“There you are,” the woman says in way of greeting when she meets them, a kind smile on her lips. “Stiles, honey, have you eaten today?”

He responds all too quickly with yes but Lydia can tell that that’s not the whole truth, if the way he’s fidgeting in his lap is any indication. He likely doesn’t want to give anyone any trouble, and thankfully Melissa knows best than to take him up on his word. “Have you eaten anything that hasn’t come from a plastic bag?”

“I’m not hungry,” Stiles mumbles, and Lydia knows that he’s lying by the way he chews the words as if he’s afraid to say them out loud.

“Well, though luck, kid. You are going to eat,” she tells him, crouching in front of him and gently patting his knee. If the woman’s words seem harsh, Melissa’s tone is warm and soft. She’s trying to get him to react, Lydia knows, like they’ve all been doing for the Stilinski boys these past couple of weeks. “Why don’t I make you that omelet that you like so much?,” she suggests, one of her hands affectionately raking through Stiles’ hair.

His head moves along with the caress and Stiles sighs, and Lydia imagines that he’s probably thinking of his mother and how much he misses her. His eyes are teary again when he shrugs noncommittally, not having all that much fight left in him.

“Okay, kiddo. I’ll get right on it and call you when it’s ready, how does that sound?” Stiles doesn’t say anything and for a moment Melissa’s eyes soften at how lost he looks. Lydia thinks she knows exactly how the older woman feels. “Just stay here with Scott and Lydia, okay?” Still no response. “How about you guys do something while I make dinner? It would do you good to get up and stretch your legs.”

When Stiles still doesn’t say anything, something makes Lydia look up. It’s a strange feeling, as if something is trying to let her in on a secret, trying to guide her through the motions. And as Lydia looks up at the rays of sunlight that dance when the foliage of the tree moves with the soft breeze, an idea comes to mind, and somehow she thinks it might be exactly what Stiles needs. “We could go up to the treehouse.”

She can tell that Melissa is not so sure about it. After all, neither of the kids have been up there yet, not since…

“I don’t know…” Is all that Stiles says about it, sounding defeated.

All Lydia hears is that his response wasn’t a no. “I think it would be nice,” Melissa inputs before Lydia can, and the redhead nods fiercely to her words.

Scott takes a step closer to them and nods too, extending his hand to Stiles. “Yeah, Stiles. Come on. We’ll go with you,” he offers, motioning between himself and Lydia. “We’ll be with you until the very top.”

Stiles is unsure, Lydia can tell, so she touches his hand lightly and speaks softly, smiling a little in a way to encourage him. “Your mom wanted that treehouse for you, Stiles. She nagged your dad about it for months until he finally gave in, just so that you could have a place closer to the stars like you always wanted.” Stiles’ lips tilt up a little at that, so Lydia continues. “Even though it was finished in time, I know that we didn’t get the chance to try it out before…” Stiles takes a sharp intake of breath, knowing what she means, but Lydia squeezes his hand in reassurance. “She was always saying how much she wanted you to get up there this summer. Your mother would have wanted you to enjoy it, no matter where she is to watch you do it.”

There’s silence for a moment as Stiles ponders it, and he must consider that maybe it’s okay because he takes Scott’s still outstretched hand and gets up, pulling Lydia along with him. Shy as Lydia has ever seen him, Stiles glances at all three of them and nods before looking up, taking in the beautiful view of the late afternoon sky that peeks through the leaves high up.

Mrs. McCall ruffles his hair again, lingering for just a moment too long. “You three be careful, alright? I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”

Leaving them to it, she heads inside. Scott steps closer to the tree and pats it fondly, looking at his best friend with warmth in his eyes. “You first.”

Stiles still wavers, looking at Lydia. She nudges his shoulder awkwardly, a blush creeping up her cheeks because this is as much of a reaction as she’s seen from him these past few weeks, months even, and all she wants is for him to get better and be happy again. “Go on. We’re right behind you.”

Lydia and Scott watch as Stiles eyes the tree with apprehension first, then reverence as he takes a deep breath, his knuckles rasping against it before he firmly grabs onto one of the improvised steps and pulls himself up, starting to climb. Only when he’s at the very top does Scott follow him, leaving Lydia to be the last one to get to know the inside of the treehouse they’ve all been so hyped about for so long now.

It’s beautiful in its simplicity, Lydia thinks, much like how she remembers Mrs. Stilinski. There’s not much inside and the room is just big enough for the three of them to comfortable sit and stand and play around as they please. There’s a colorful rug on the floor and small squares of what Lydia knows to be one of Stiles’ old sheets that make for pretend curtains on the four windows, one on each side of the room. There’s a blackboard in one of the walls and a small shelf with a few books and toys for them to entertain themselves, three large pillows and blankets in one of the corners. Outside one of the windows there’s a bucket attached to a pulley system that Mrs. Stilinski thought the kids could use whenever they wanted to either get something up or down from the treehouse. From the base of the treehouse, a swing that had had Lydia so excited about has lied untouched until now.

Just standing inside their new safe haven has all three of them looking around, mesmerized. The whole place feels homey and warm, like Mrs. Stilinski herself, and it’s as if they have stepped inside somewhere sacred. Lydia can only hope she’s made the right decision in suggesting they do this.

Stiles stares at one of the bare walls with glistening eyes, raising his hand to feel it beneath his skin. Scott and Lydia look at each other without saying a word, knowing that their friend is experiencing something that they can’t really begin to understand, not quite in the same way anyway.

Startling them, Stiles closes the hatch door and picks up one of the pillows, lying down on the floor and making himself comfortable. Scott and Lydia follow his lead after a moment or two, unsure of what their friend is doing, but Lydia’s sense of pride for how strong her best friend is and how he’s dealing with this has a smile on her lips that she has a hard time keeping to herself.

“I can almost _feel_ her,” Stiles thinks out loud after a minute, all three of them already sprawled on the floor every each way like they’ve always done in their sleepovers, and for a moment it’s like nothing much has changed in the past year. “I like it here,” he says peacefully, and Lydia has never enjoyed being right so much.

“Me too,” Scott and Lydia say in unison, and they all smile at the ceiling, that they have noticed has Christmas lights all over, probably to resemble the stars in the sky when lit, another gift from Claudia to the son that she loved so much.

Lydia doesn’t know how much time passes them by. She can see through the window closest to her that the sky has started to darken, and she wonders what’s taking Mrs. McCall so long when she realizes that maybe she and her mother are tending to a grieving Sheriff instead, giving both Stilinski men some time for themselves before imposing any further by taking care of them and their house for them.

She’s almost dozing off herself – Scott had given in, she’d noticed, minutes ago, when silence was all that could be heard except for faraway noises from the street – when Stiles grabs ahold of her hand and turns his head to her.

She thought he was almost falling asleep himself, he’s been so tired but his eyes, his beautiful eyes seem to shine with gratitude when he whispers “Thank you”, and there are no more words needed between them. Lydia can do nothing but scoot closer to him and rest her head beside his until someone calls them all inside an half hour later, and for the life of her she can’t tear her eyes away from him for a second, and she has a feeling that they’re right where they should be.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a minute of your time to leave some feedback. It's much appreciated :)
> 
> Find all of my social media accounts in my profile.
> 
> \- ymmw


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